


OCD

by 100percentsunshine



Series: Kaylor One Shots [7]
Category: Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, Mental Illness, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100percentsunshine/pseuds/100percentsunshine
Summary: Taylor feels like she's drowning.  Her OCD is stopping her from living.  But a certain green eyed girl might be able to help her learn how to swim.





	OCD

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: intrusive thoughts

You step out of the shower feeling rejuvenated. Finally. You run your hand through your short blond hair, working out any large tangles. Then, you dry yourself off and step into your bedroom to elect your outfit for the day. And suddenly, it's back.

You're not clean enough, Taylor. You're probably crawling with germs. They're everywhere, they're in the air around you. You can't escape them. You're dirty, you're going to get sick and then you're going to die. And that will ruin your family and they will all become depressed and kill themselves. You have to shower again.

The progression of thoughts is ludicrous, and most certainly irrational, but you can't help your obsessions, nor your compulsions. You haven't really noticed, but you've been scrubbing at your bare skin with the yellow, fluffy bath towel. It's red and raw, stinging slightly.

You're panicking. You're hyperventilating. You're trembling. Your stomach is aching from the constant anxiety of your perceived impending doom. If you don't shower right now, something bad is going to happen. You need to regain control. You have no control.

You sprint back into the bathroom, dropping the towel on the already soaking floor and climb into the shower. Once the water starts, you get underneath the stream. Never mind the lack of heat, you're covered in germs.

You scrub, and scrub. No matter how much soap you use no matter how quickly you lather it onto your skin, you can never be clean enough. Your skin is torn and bleeding at the weaker bits from the constant nature of this compulsion.

It's your sixth shower today.

1 year later

"Morning, my love," you announce, extending your long limbs in a stretch. You let out a yawn.

There's a groan from the other side of the bed and you chuckle as you reach for your glasses that reside on the the wooden bedside table. As the bedroom fades into view, you lean over to the woman curled up on opposite side of the bed.

You place a kiss onto her temple, and she let's out a purr of contentment. Her eyes open slightly, and then flutter closed as she burrows back into the blankets.

Karlie isn't a morning person.

A smile paints itself onto your face, and you cross the room to pull up the blinds, letting the sunlight filter through. You drink it in, letting it fill your every cell with energy and strength and love. You always seem to notice that the sun's rays are inadequate compared to the ones beamed your way by the beautiful woman whom you're fortunate and lucky enough to call your partner.

Even when you were young, you scoffed at the temporary connotation of the term "girlfriend" or "boyfriend." You and Karlie already know that you will be in each other's lives until the day you die, and it seems petty to christen her something that doesn't give that implication. You and Karlie are partners in life. You're taking on its mountainous successes of happiness and it's lowest valleys of depression and disappointment together.

You wouldn't want it any other way.

You walk lazily towards the bathroom. The cats have finally realized that you're awake and come asking for food. You bend down and scratch then behind their ears. "Good morning to you, too! I'm about to get in the shower. Ask Karlie for some food," you suggest.

Meredith saunters off, presumably in search of the taller girl. Olivia stays, butting her head around your legs as you pull off the faded Fall Out Boy t-shirt that you wore to bed. "Dibbles, get out," you chide, shooing the clueless kitten out of the bathroom.

As you wait for the water to warm, you cannot help but marvel at how, exactly one year ago, you were still barely able to keep yourself afloat. Your OCD was drowning you, shoving you into the turbulent depths of the ocean. And now, with lots of assistance, you've final learned how to swim.

It's taken a lot of work on your part. You attend therapy religiously twice every week, keep journals, and are on medication.

Exactly one year ago, you met Karlie. And, without her influence, you would have never even thought about going to therapy. She showed you a better life, a bearable existence for you. You just had to do the work to get there. No matter. That first push was all you needed.

You're on the other side now. You've dramatically reshaped you life in ways you deemed impossible a mere year ago. Your OCD hasn't disappeared by any means. Even now, as you step out of the shower, you think about the countless unhealthy germs that you've already come into contact with.

But you ignore them.


End file.
